


the sound of your breath (music to my ears)

by orphan_account



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Misophonia, character introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 22:16:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3150245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trott hates the sounds that people make.  Sighing, swallowing, chewing, breathing, snoring.  Disgusting.  ~Hat Pack Fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	the sound of your breath (music to my ears)

**Author's Note:**

> Couldn’t help myself. Shameless inspiration from Trott’s IRL misophonia. Enjoy!  
> ~R

Trott hates the sounds that people make. Sighing, swallowing, chewing, breathing, snoring. Disgusting. He can barely stand it sometimes; has to submerge his head underwater and just sit, letting the water muffle the sounds around him. Their communicators were always set up, for safety reasons, and Trott could never escape the sounds of the other two chewing, swallowing, coughing and breathing.

Perhaps that’s why he’d always felt so partial to breaking into song: the sounds of their melodies distracted him from the never-ending assault of terrible ambient noise.

Throughout the day it’s irritating, but he has his work to distract him. The worst is when all three are tucked into bed, waiting for the night to pass in a few deliberate moments. The breaths seem louder, more intrusive, then, and Trott finds himself tense, waiting to hear each new exhale. Ross snores, often, and Trott finds himself thinking about “muffling” him with a pillow. Sound waves through air are unkind, carried with brute force and speed. He misses the tactile sounds of the ocean, diffused in the heavy water to mere impressions, hints at what is happening around him.

Of course, what Trott never talks about is the sound that’s worse. His irritation can be diffused, but this? This sound he fears more than anything else.

Silence.

He’s only heard it once or twice in his life since meeting the other two, and it was this deafening sound which closed up his throat and sped up his heart because there was nothing like it.

He didn’t fear death; none of them did. Why should they? The somewhat regular screams of agony did little more than annoy him. They’d all been burnt alive once or twice.

But silence?

Silence didn’t mean death. It meant --

He didn’t know what it meant.

The others relied on him to know. It was Trott who needed to understand, to plan, to keep them working and growing and living. In this ever-changing landscape, he was the only one who studied and took notes, preparing for what would pass. Preparing for the inevitable.

Silence?

Silence meant nothing. Nowhere. He couldn’t analyze silence. He couldn’t save them from silence. Silence was what had followed when they were transported to their new world, no warning, only a poor explanation from Direwolf20. That had been fine, but . . . what about next time? What if they ended up somewhere hostile? What if they ended up separated?

That was the heart of the matter, wasn’t it? The disgusting terrible noises his friends made were dreadful, but the fact that they made them at all was beautiful. Trott had been alone. He’d been alone for many years. And he never wanted to have to be again.

So? When Ross snores heavily in his sleep and Smith purposefully chews as loudly as possible, Trott whines and complains and he thanks his lucky stars that his friends are there, making their terrible noises in a never-ending cacophony. Because that’s a price Trott’s willing to pay.


End file.
